To thine own self be true
by NancyMay
Summary: Having binge watched the Miss Fisher Modern Murder Mysteries I wondered how the Sparrow situation could be resolved. I came up with this, a solution of sorts, an answer to the questions we are all asking: where is Phryne; what happened to Jack; all the other characters we know and love from the original series. Hope you like it.


"I thought you'd stay in the house, Uncle Jack," she watched him patiently unpack the boxes of books and thoughtfully place them on the shelves, "why move now?"

"Too many memories. Nosy neighbours," he grumbled, "always popping in to see if I need anything ... I don't."

"You do," she sighed and got up from her seat to help him, "but she's gone."

He glared at her.

"Uncle Jack, eighteen months, a crashed plane ..." she looked at the book she had lifted, "... hers?"

He peered through his half moon glasses that he now needed for reading and gave a little laugh, replaying the scene in his mind, Hugh, the flustered embarrassed young constable he used to know trying to learn how to please Dorothy from a book. How the young had changed he thought, as he regarded his great niece, who filled his heart with pride every time she 'popped' round.

"You know why," he sighed, "I need to keep out of sight, now, and away from Tivoli Road. There are things hidden there, Fleur, things that need to stay hidden." He limped over to the couch, wincing. "Damn!"

The bullet through his knee that fateful day that had seen him out of the force and Phryne in more danger than she had ever been, and had had her 'disappear' - a constant reminder of his uselessness. The current coroner had failed to match the bullet but the retired coroner hadn't and when she told him and Phryne who the gun belonged to they knew they had to go into hiding. They staged a very public breakup and she flew away in her little, old, and frankly unstable, gypsy moth and he faded out of sight. She had promised to contact him, but after one or two telegrams that too stopped. The plane had been located in Papua New Guinea but not her body; and that was what Jack clung to, that without a body she wasn't dead, that and - his gut feeling.

For too long he had stayed at the house on Tivoli Road but after some odd happenings, feelings he was being watched, things being moved in the house while he was out and the house was empty; for he looked after himself, largely; he knew he had to move on. That house was theirs, all the furnishings they had chosen together, but all he took was the things from his study and the books they had shared. He left everything that was Phryne's - everything.

He had asked Fleur to find him a small house, two bedrooms then she could stay over should she so wish, somewhere discreet, quiet and not overlooked. He liked what she had found and moved in as Archie Jones, his alter ego that should Phryne come looking for him she would know him. Jack Robinson departed Melbourne one foggy morning and a month later the bearded ex-newsreader from 3JH arrived and took up residence.

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The two sides of Phryne's life were now separate. Jack hadn't been much involved with the adventuress' club and when he 'left' Melbourne, Birdie Burnside had lost contact. Peregrine Fisher, Phryne's niece, had joined in, helped solve cases and rubbed Percy Sparrow up the wrong way, and he her. She most hated his calling her 'girlie', and his foul breath and less than fragrant odour.

Fleur kept him up to date.

"You be careful," he warned, "Sparrow is dangerous."

And she had been, passing on nuggets of information from City South. Sparrow treated her as the tea girl, the filing clerk and much as it had irritated her at first she began to find her niche - tea girls learnt a lot!

She supposed it had really started when she had passed on the coroner's report about the bullet. Sparrow had asked her to file it, case closed. But she had taken a sneaky look and noticed certain procedures that had been missed. She knew Uncle Jack and Miss Phryne's friends, the people who had helped them all the years they had worked together to solve cases and so she knew of the doctor that had been Miss Phryne's oldest and best friend. So how to get the evidence?

"Girlie!" Sparrow had yelled from his office two weeks after Uncle Jack had been released from hospital, "Connor!"

She peered round the door, "Sir?"

"Here, clean this," he pushed the gun across the table, "it's sticking."

She knew you never trusted anyone to check your pistol, it was a job you should do yourself, self preservation - heck, Jack didn't even check Phryne's gun, nor she his - and they trusted each other implicitly.

She just shrugged, took the weapon and went down to the armoury to strip and oil and clean the gun, and test fire it.

She retrieved the bullet and smiled; all she now had to do was get the bullet from Jack's leg that was stored in the evidence room and get them both to Dr Macmillan. The only thing Sparrow took from the room was cash or jewellery, records were badly kept.

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With her faded red hair, bent spine from years leaning over the morgue table or an operating table and grumpy demeanour, most people avoided Dr Macmillan as much as possible. The only people she tolerated were Phryne, Jack and Fleur. Dot and Hugh ran their own detective agency so she would occasionally be called in by them, otherwise she kept very much to herself.

"So, why me?"

"I trust you, Dr Mac," she smiled, holding out the bottle of single malt scotch that she could barely afford, "and it's for Uncle Jack."

Mac shrugged stiffly and shuffled into the flat. In the room which should have been a kitchen she had a small laboratory.

"Leave it with me," she grunted, settling down on a stool.

"Thanks," Fleur kissed her cheek, not from affection, because it annoyed her, and she loved to tease her.

"And you don't need to bother with the scotch - next time!" Mac called after her.

No, she didn't but it made her feel part of something special to do so.

After the Cooking School case Fleur knew she had to work harder. James Steed was the most honest copper, apart from Uncle Jack, she knew. It was also when Sparrow started making mistakes. Fleur knew Peregrine had surrendered incriminating photographs in order to protect Steed's name. She didn't know exactly what the photographs were of but she knew they were damning evidence of unacceptable goings on between a senior police officer and someone of less than scrupulous - scruples. The look of glee on his face when Peregrine put the roll of film in his palm turned her stomach.

She watched and waited. For some unaccountable reason Sparrow thought his office was the safest place to hide things he didn't want anyone else to see. He lived in a boarding house, one of the few still running; he got his meals cooked and his laundry done, and anything else? - well that was what certain establishments were for.

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Peregrine perched on the edge of Steed's desk swinging her legs. Fleur hid her smile behind her hand; Uncle Jack said that was what Miss Phryne used to do.

Sparrow glared from his office, his superiors were putting pressure on him to get rid of Steed, discredit him. Peregrine could make that easy, interfering in cases, but, the clear up rate had improved and although he took the credit in the papers, word on the street - literally- was that Detective Inspector James Steed was the one who did all the work.

"Right, Girlie!" Sparrow stepped out his office and waved dismissively at Peregrine, "this is not a dating agency!"

Steed rolled his eyes. Peregrine slipped off his desk and winked at James.

"Later," she whispered. His nod was barely discernable but she knew he would be at her place that evening.

"Haven't you got inquiries to make?" he grunted at James and glared at him. He was heading out for his lunchtime pie and didn't like Steed to be in the office when he wasn't.

James shrugged, stood up and slung his jacket over his shoulder.

Fleur busied herself at a filing cabinet; she knew he didn't consider her worth bothering with.

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She waited until their footsteps had disappeared. Checking there was no one else about she slipped into the office and swiftly leafed through the untidy pile of papers on his desk and in his filing tray. Nothing of note, really, though there was an entry in his diary - "TR 7:30pm - Wilson's" - TR were the Deputy Commissioner's initials and Wilson's was a seedy club downtown. She made a note on a scrap of paper and tucked it inside her bra.

She started to check the desk drawers, nothing interesting, not even an inferior bottle of whisky, disappointing. The left hand top drawer caught on something, she had to tip and jiggle it to get it to open and felt the drag on the underside of the desk.

"Hm," she looked around the office to check again if anyone was there. No one. God bless the Australian copper and his love of the pie.

She reached into the space and scrabbled around with her fingers. Aha! she felt something, taped to the underside - she scraped it off and extracted it - a roll of film, thinner than from a standard camera. She held it up to the light and her eyebrows hit her hairline - was that even possible?!

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"You need to put it back," Jack wiped his fingerprints, and hers, off the celluloid.

"Uncle Jack!" she gasped, "that could bring him down."

"I know, god Fleur, you're as bad as Phryne - impetuous, rash ... "

Fleur took that as a compliment, but, yes she could see his point. If Sparrow found out the roll of film was missing ...

"I have an idea," she took the film, kissed his cheek and trotted out of the bungalow.

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Jack was relieved when she called to say the film was back where she found it and he was not to worry. Her enthusiasm, her need to find the truth reminded him so much of Phryne that he decided her had to reach out to her and what better way - Shakespeare and the personal column in the Argus. Once a month he started sending a quote starting with one of the first he had ever used, "she makes hungry where most she satisfies, JR 1929", of course he didn't expect a response but nevertheless he felt better, more alive.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe only person, in the whole world, possibly the universe, that knew where Phryne was was Jane. Far away, in France, she smiled at the cutting from the paper and sealed the envelope. All correspondence was addressed to 'Mum' and the address in Singapore.

"No names," Miss Phryne had said in her first note, "please, darling Jane, but keep me informed."

So she retyped all the letters the Inspector, as she still thought of him, sent her, and signed them 'Anthony', and sent them to his 'Cleopatra'.

It was Jane, under Miss Phryne's instructions, that had declared her dead. It was Jane that asked the Adventuress' Club to dispose of her home and her belongings, as soon as Jack told her he was moving out, no longer able to stand the memories. But Jane didn't know about Peregrine until Jack mentioned it in a letter. His description, that he had got from Fleur made her smile and she told Miss Phryne all about it.

"I'm glad," Phryne had written back, "Fleur always was nosy. Perhaps there will be an end to this. I do wish, however, that Annabelle had answered my letters."

In her tiny flat in Singapore Miss Fisher sighed and poured herself a jasmine tea. Sixty two, alone, lonely - even she admitted this to herself - missing Jack and Melbourne, Dot and Hugh, she cried more often than she used to and prayed for the day she would be able to hold her head up high and walk into his house and apologise. It was a hell of a price to pay for wanting to know the truth behind Janey's death - because that was where it started - and never ended.

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"Peregrine," Fleur caught her one day and invited her to tea at a small cafe, "I need to talk to you - about your aunt."

There was so much Peregrine didn't know about Phryne Fisher that she was hungry for any stories and Fleur had plenty.

"Between us," she grasped Fleur's hand, "we need to find out the truth and stop these pompous asses from ruining any more lives. Your Uncle, he should be able to close the book on this."

"Oh, Uncle Jack always believes she's still alive - they never found her body you know," Fleur sidestepped the fact that Jack was still in Melbourne, "he is sure she is still alive, somewhere."

"Well," Peregrine huffed, "a body is proof, and I don't blame him. Let's get the bastards."

"Peregrine," Fleur sighed, "I know you have contacts ..."

"All of whom refuse to believe Aunt Phryne is gone, so, yes," she laughed, "they'll help, even if they don't know it. Now," she pulled a small tobacco tin sized package out of her handbag. "I told ... a ... a friend, who invents things, that I need to keep tabs on someone, record his conversations. He says this will record anything in the room, but, if you connect it to the phone line we can cut into it and hear it as it happens. It's usually lick and stick but I reckon if you put it under his desk with a bit of glue ..."

"Gotcha!" Fleur grinned taking the package and slipping it into her handbag. "this is exciting, though I know it shouldn't be, but ..."

"It is, but don't let's get carried away. Now, here's the other thing you wanted, frankly I would have thought Aunt Phryne would have made a second copy."

Fleur peered at the roll of fine negative and giggled, pretty flowers, koalas and parakeets.

"Brilliant!"

So she swapped the evidence and hid the original at Jack's where not even he would think to look - behind a photograph of Phryne taken, he said, when he arrested her once out of pure frustration. The recording device she glued to the underside of Sparrow's desk, connected to the phone line which would directly link to a second one at Peregrine's home and waited for the sparks to fly.

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Fern Williams stepped off the boat in Marseilles and hoped her wartime French would hold up after all this time. She boarded a train to Paris, suffered the pitying looks from other passengers when she turned her head and the burn scar on her neck became visible, and hoped she had done the right thing.

Jane had finally worn her down and got her to agree to go and live with her.

"I won't tell the Inspector," she assured her, "but at least I won't have to type his letters out, you can read them as they come in."

And she did, though the sight of his handwriting made her cry and the record of his posts in the Argus had her wondering if she could reply.

"If you do, he will tell Fleur and things might get sticky," Jane passed her a cup of rich thick coffee, "I know you want to let him know you are alright, but, can you wait a little longer?"

Phryne/Fern sighed, "Fleur is taking huge risks for me, taking that roll of film was risky? I wonder if she did put it back or hid it somewhere."

"Probably right under the Inspector's nose," she laughed."Now," Jane changed the subject, "that burn ..."

"It pulls," Phryne admitted, "but I've got used to it. It was stupid of me to try and fly so far in the moth ... the crash ... I was lucky."

Jane specialised in treating burns, after spending a long time training as a doctor and going through all the disciplines, but, after the war and the work Tilley had done with treating and reconstructing burns victims, she had found her niche.

"It's dry," she touched it, "I'll prepare an ointment, something to soften it. It will never go away, you know that, but it will ease."

Phryne sighed, but she was too tired, too old to argue with her.

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Half way across the globe Sparrow had got himself into something bigger than he could handle. Gambling and extortion. Now, he had some experience in this but this was far more than he had experienced up until now but the deeper he got into it, the more careless he became.

He had long associated with the Italian mafia that secreted themselves in Melbourne's lower society. Carlo Liotti enjoyed having him on the end of string, letting him gamble and drink in his establishments, special privileges to him and the Deputy Commissioner. To turn a blind eye to late hours, blackmail _and_ murder, Sparrow, and the DC, could have their pick of the girls, or boys, they desired. It was this that Phryne and Jack had stumbled across early on in its inception but it was more than Sanderson's white slavery, though there was that also included. Liotti and his cohort were very dangerous, as Peregrine had found out, and they were difficult, if not impossible, to pin down to any particular activity."

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"... now get out of here!" Sparrow pushed the young man down the steps, "and keep out!"

The lad stumbled and fell into Fleur.

"Git," he hissed.

"Hm," she pursed her lips, "what did you do?"

He looked her up and down, "Why would I tell you, you're one of them."

"Me?" she looked aghast, "I may be a cop but I'm nothing like him."

Sparrow had taken to using her as his messenger girl, picking up his cleaning was his latest.

"I'm a photographer, for the Argus," he shrugged showing her his damaged camera.

"I can get that fixed for you," she smiled, "but why would he break your camera?"

"Certain pictures ... " he considered her, "when do you get off?"

"Five," her mind was working overtime, "leave that with me, meet me at 85 Tivoli Road, six-thirty. Tell the owner you've come to see Fleur."

"Tivoli Road?" he thought, "isn't that where that famous PI used to live?"

Fleur just tapped the side of her nose and held out her hand for the camera.

Well, he either paid god knows how much for a new one or took a chance, and anyone who knew the new owner of that house who's previous occupant was legend was worth taking a chance on!

The new owner of said house was whispering in a corner of the office to Detective Inspector Steed when Fleur went inside. It was urgent whispering from which she gathered Sparrow had caught their attention, again.

"Peregrine," she touched her arm, "can your friend mend this, I think we might have help, on the paper."

"Who?"

Fleur," Steed cautioned, "dangerous ground."

"How many in Sparrow's position have this gloriously tailored dinner suit?" she held up the garment she had been sent to collect.

"That is good," Peregrine agreed, "and yes it's too good for the likes of him."

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Samuel Burnside was good at keeping secrets and this time he was keeping them from Birdie. Peregrine needed his expertise in surveillance, all his sneaky little gadgets and he revelled in inventing and making them. He repaired the camera and the photographer, Eddie Carson, was so delighted that he wasn't even charged he agreed to do anything they asked of him. And what they asked was very risky. Eddie specialised in photographing the nightlife of Melbourne and Sparrow and Liotti, and the DC had caught his eye. He knew there was corruption in the force, his father had been framed, by Sparrow , for a murder he didn't commit, hadn't even been in town at the time but the fabricated evidence had seen Mr Carson sitting in a prison cell for the rest of his life. Ironically he didn't live to be hanged. Eddie was absolutely sure, convinced that it had been Sparrow or one of his 'friends' that had killed the burglar at the jewellery store but his father had been identified as the man with the gun. The jeweller had disappeared quite quickly after the trial, never to be seen again. Eddie believed he had been paid off, or, worst case scenario, was killed to silence him.

"This will fit in your jacket pocket," Samuel handed him a small device with a lens on one side. "This is a camera; sit it in the pocket like so ..." he positioned it so the lens was against the seam, "we'll open the seam and sew it round the lens ..."

"Who will, Sam," Peregrine hissed, "I can't sew."

"I can," Fleur held out her hand, "Miss Phryne's companion showed me, give it here. I bet there's a needle and thread about here." She stood up and looked around, ah yes, the bits and bobs drawer in the kitchen. Sure enough, a needle was stuck into a bobbin of thread that would do nicely, Dot Collins always said Fleur could have been a couture seamstress in another life.

"Blimey," Eddie whistled, "you'd never know it was there."

"Just press this button to take a picture," Samuel showed him the button on the top of the camera, "here's an extra roll of film, and let me have the used one to process. Don't publish them, not until the case in underway ..."

"James will put the case together," Peregrine looked across at the sceptical DI, "we'll find someone we can trust, a judge or someone who isn't up to no good, there has to be someone ..."

"Leave that with me, Peregrine," James agreed. He was living and working under such awkward conditions, looking over his shoulder at all times, but he was certain Sparrow did not have access to such clever people as he did. He would look into past cases that had been processed properly with the expected outcome and no missing evidence.

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"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

Phryne blinked away the tears as she read his latest post in the personal column; she so wanted to reply but Jane had received a letter from Jack telling her all about Fleur and how she was looking into a long running case. He referred to Fleur as his great niece, rather than by name as he wasn't sure if his mail was being intercepted, and if it was it was just a letter from a father to a daughter she would know who he meant. After all, he was Archie Jones, not Jack Robinson formerly of the Royal Victoria Constabulary.

"You can't, not yet," she urged, " I think this case is the corruption in the force. Fleur and Peregrine will get to the bottom of it. Peregrine's a Fisher and Fleur is the Inspector's niece, quite a combination, yes?"

Phryne nodded, dumbly.

"Right, my guess is you'll be home by Christmas." Jane leant in and hugged her.

"You always were an optimistic soul, Jane," Phryne sighed, "I wish I was that confident."

Jane was hurt because Miss Phryne was so low. She had never seen her so defeated. Like Phryne and her mentor Mac she had never had children so there were no distractions in the flat. She now mentored two young doctors at the hospital and they were her children, she supposed a bit like she was Phryne's adopted daughter. She started inviting them over for dinner, or out for dinner with Phryne and let her hold court on her adventures. The interest these students showed and the questions they fired at Fern Williams buoyed her up and one even suggested she write her memoirs.

Phryne shrugged.

"Pirates and Boys on Bicycles," Jane suggested, "isn't that what you said your first toast with the Inspector was?"

"It was a long time ago, Jane."

"Go on, Miss Williams," the student nodded enthusiastically, "you'd be a best seller."

"Pirates, Adventurers and Boys on Bicycles," she corrected, and a project was born.

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Phryne bought a typewriter, she knew it was no good presenting a handwritten story, one her handwriting was not the best and two, the injury to the right side of her neck made it uncomfortable to write for any length of time. She sent a draft idea off to several publishers. Writing it as a novel, rather than a memoir would be easier, she thought, and writing it in the first person would be doubly so.

Two publishers sent a definite 'no thank you', one said it would be advisable to write it as a man, which defeated the whole premise of the story, one said they needed to see the first chapter and one said they would like to speak to her in person. She wrote the first chapter, dealing with her childhood up to Janey's kidnap and set a date to meet both publishers over lunch but on different days.

The publisher who wanted to see the first chapter read through the story carefully, marked up his comments and explained his reasons for the changes.

"You see, I think a crusading elder brother would be more believable," he set his glass down and stared at the well dressed and fashionable woman and decided she was a bored housewife wanting to fill her time.

"I'm sorry, that's not going to happen," she smiled sweetly, "you can't change what has already happened."

"I don't understand, Miss Williams," he whispered.

"That is the story of a very good friend of mine, I don't think she would want to be changed into a man." She stood up, "thank you for your time, good day to you." She swept out, the folder under her arm and left him to pay the bill.

The second publisher did mention the same thing, that the change to an older brother would be better. She rolled her eyes, in this day and age she had hoped that women were seen as more than in her day. "Frankly I am sick of saying this, but the older child has to be a girl, she always was a girl, I know her she is a friend of mine. Besides," she leant close, "it would be rather awkward further down the line when she happens upon a rather handsome police officer she has designs on."

"Ah, right, gotcha," he sat back, "well, normally, Miss Williams, I don't take on new authors but you intrigue me. Still waters run deep they say, so, let's have it, the whole thing and here," he took out his cheque book, "is an advance, you have six months to get the first full draft to me."

She raised an eyebrow at the generous sum and assured him that six months was quite enough time. "I have to be somewhere else by Christmas," she murmured, "the other side of the world."

He had detected a twang in her accent and decided she had arranged to visit family then, he didn't pursue the matter and she didn't seem to want to say any more.

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As Phryne typed and shared her writings with Jane, and they alternately laughed and cried over stories and memories; Peregrine, Steed and Fleur were staring goggle eyed at the photographs Eddie had taken.

"How the heck did you get these?" Fleur help up one of Sparrow taking a roll of cash from a factory owner whose premises had been found wanting in its safe practices - they weren't safe, at all, and it had come to light when a worker had cut their hand off in a leather cutter.

"I have friends too," he smirked, "friends who work there. In fact they are the ones who alerted me to the incident. I told one of the journo's and he filed the story. This part he doesn't know about, though. The others are just during my usual tours of the clubs."

"Sparrow is losing it," Steed lifted another picture, this time of his boss in the arms of a young boy, dressed as a woman. "I know this lad, busted him a couple of times and he got off, just a slap on the wrist from Sparrow and sent on his way. Youthful hi jinks he called it."

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Sparrow was having the time of his life. He had been invited to an exclusive party at an elite hotel with businessmen, business owners, the DC and several lawyers and judges. Eddie was there, as a wealthy playboy, someone with money to burn. Fleur had 'found' Sparrow's invitation, taken a photograph and Samuel had made one for Eddie. She had schooled him in his manners, they had rehearsed his life story and Peregrine had shown him how to walk, to give non-answers to questions but if any digging was done he was looking into buying and renovating a theatre, something a little different was how he was going to describe it, with a raised eyebrow and a wink. He was to intimate that the shows might be a little risqué - something along the lines of Phryne's fan dance all those years ago, but even racier. Fleur knew that story, it was one Uncle Jack liked to tell, and she had told her little gang of crime fighters.

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Fleur sewed the little camera into Eddie's tuxedo pocket and asked him to zip up her dress, this was the only thing Peregrine and Steed didn't know, she was going as Eddie's date, a giggly, airheaded actress. She had let her blond hair down and let it fall in its natural curl over her shoulders, her dress showed off her best attributes, her breasts and small waist and hid her legs. She wore high heels, high enough to give her height, low enough to allow her to run if they needed to.

"Are you sure, Fleur," he turned her round and thought she looked rather nice, "I mean this could be dangerous."

"It probably will be," she smiled and lifted her skirt, "Uncle Jack said Miss Phryne always went prepared," she showed him a small gun tucked into a garter. He whistled.

"And me, do I get a firearm?"

"Got a certificate?"

He shook his head.

"You'll have to make do with your fists," she patted his arm.

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They were giggling as they arrived and Eddie waved his invitation at the thug on the door. They took coupes of champagne and entered the throng. Nobody turned a hair.

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"Fleur!" Peregrine gasped as she opened the door, "well, you scrub up well!"

"Thanks, I think," Fleur grinned, "now, Eddie has the film and I have ..." she opened her little evening bag, "... sound ... I hope."

Steed appeared behind Peregrine, hastily tucking in his shirt, and looked at the two partygoers.

Peregrine made coffee and Eddie handed over the camera to be taken to Samuel.

"Names, Fleur," Steed took out his notebook, "who was there, what was said ..."

"Ok Inspector," she sipped the coffee, "keep your hair on, we have photographs: high court judges; coppers; not just Sparrow; businessmen ... I'll give you the names and all we saw. Girls, boys, boys dressed as girls, boys with men .. it was all there ..."

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Steed's files got bigger, the photographic evidence, Fleur and Eddie's statements, the case of illegal abortions performed on young girls that had been impregnated by married ministers, men of the church and others who should know better, some ended in the death of the mother, and some young women would doubtless find themselves infertile when they did decide to settle down and start a family.

It was now time to call in Jack.

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"Fleur!" he was horrified at what his niece had been getting up to, so she declined to add that she had had to fend off an over amorous judge and threatened him with having a certain photograph published.

"Sorry, Uncle Jack," she shrugged, "but I knew you would have to be kept out of it, and Sparrow was threatening James' career and that of several other officers. The DC is in the firing line too, and we have evidence against several judges and lawyers, as well as the usual businessmen. Time to clean up Melbourne," she folded her arms and glared at him.

"What we need from you, sir," James held out the files, "is your experienced eye over these. I have a judge who is prepared to put his career on the line and a lawyer prepared to lead the prosecution."

If Phryne was alive, if she was reading his posts, this might bring her home - but... it was a big if.

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Phryne's book was an unexpected success - it read as a life story; which is was; there were no pretty words to describe finding Janey but there was joy in chapters that dealt with her found family, with her relationship with Jack and there was truth in her words. She attended a book signing in Paris and one in London, after the book was published there. She wasn't sure she enjoyed writing all of it, and some days she had cried over the pages as she remembered the cases and the camaraderie she had had with Jack. The whisky and the games of draughts, being scolded for 'breaking and entering', the black beret and blouse and trousers she had worn on those occasions, the lethal dress he had declined her invitation to help her out of ... the list was endless.

She headed back to France, tired and slightly saddened, and not sure what she would do next. She was still 'displaced', she had itchy feet and a longing to go home, but as Jane had been telling her; kept telling her; she could not go back until the Sparrow issue was sorted.

Jane met her at the airport with an enormous grin on her face.

"The Inspector has written, it's all over, or it will be when you get home," she waved an envelope," and his latest post."

Phryne grabbed at the letter, Jane's joy infected her.

"It's a long one," Jane took her arm and passed her the letter.

"What's the quote?"

Phryne pulled the sheets of Jack's memorable, if a little untidy script, out and began to read.

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you." Jane pushed her into the car and threw the small suitcase on the back seat.

"Soft sod," Phryne muttered, continuing to read, which was not easy when Jane drove.

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She pulled out a copy of the book and opened the front cover. There was the dedication: "To my own boy on a bicycle ..." underneath she wrote "from your Pirate girl of Collingwood."

"That will be the only copy in Australia, won't it?" Jane poured coffee and sat at the table opposite her.

"Yes, I asked for it not to be published there without my say so, in other words not until Sparrow and his cohort were brought down. She got up and went to the little desk where the book had been written and pulled out a small note card from the drawer. She sat down and tapped her pen against her teeth, this had to reach Jack before she arrived in Melbourne but she didn't even know his address.

"Here," Jane pushed an address book in front of her, "send it to Archie Jones."

Phryne smiled and hummed the 'Flamboyance' tune.

She wrote: "All's well that ends well, still the fine's the crown; Whate'er the course, still the end is the renown." She paused again and Jane passed her another envelope. Inside Phryne found a plane ticket, one way, to Melbourne, four days. "Arriving Melbourne 23rd December, 6:45 pm," and signed it Fern Williams.

"I'll write to him," Jane smiled, "a letter will get there quicker than a parcel."

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He turned the parcel round in his hands, the address had been type-written which put him on his guard, immediately. He shook it, but there was no rattle. It was the size of a book, but he hadn't ordered any books lately. He put it down and turned his attention to the letter from Jane received earlier that week and wondered if this was the parcel she had referred to. She had told him to open it, it was important he did so.

He sighed, surely she hadn't found something he didn't have in his library?

He cut the tape and lifted the paper, folding it carefully. It was something Phryne had always teased him about, that he might find a use for old wrapping paper. Usually these days he wrapped waste food that he couldn't drop into his compost heap in it. The book was bound in a shiny jacket. There was no picture of the author on the back, or a biography. A blurb just declared it a semi autobiographical novel from a new author. He turned it over and read the title and stared at the picture, a line drawing of a boy on a bicycle and two girls in a pirate ship made from a bath tub. He gasped and opened the cover. He sat down suddenly on his chair and read the inscription - surely not, surely she hadn't written her memoirs? The note card slid out from between the first pages and as he read that tears ran down his face. She was alive, she was coming home. If he didn't have a bum knee he would have danced round the living room.

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He had taken a cab to the airport and told it to wait. The red raggers were long gone and he missed them. Bert's permanent cigarette and Cec's silent form next to him, but the new cab company were good and didn't take expensive detours. It always tickled him that it was 'Mac's taxis' but had nothing to do with the doctor. He had spent the days since the parcel had arrived reading the book and making notes in the margins, but on the whole he loved it and found it a fairly accurate representation of their life together. If there were little oddities, he saw some of her actions a different way, he just smiled and marked the place, it was how she remembered it. He hadn't told anyone that she was coming home, it was a hard secret to keep and he had kept the book hidden from Fleur who was far too good a detective these days. He'd even met Peregrine over dinner at Tivoli Road one evening, at her insistence. It had been a long night, she had requested stories about her aunt and he had found her similar in many ways, totally reckless, which Steed agreed with, and charming, not quite a freight train but she was working up to it.

Phryne Fisher never travelled light and he noticed on this she hadn't changed. She walked towards him with that familiar skip and a hint of nerves jolted through him. It was nothing to the nerves she was covering up, he didn't know about the scarring on her neck and for a woman who had always prided herself on her appearance she was a little afraid he would find it unattractive.

"Archie Jones," she held out her hand, "fancy meeting you here."

"Heard you were coming to town, Miss Williams," he took it and bent over it to kiss the back of it, old fashioned and courteous, "I just thought a familiar face would be welcoming. These places can be rather impersonal these days."

"Indeed," she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, just like the old days, "how's the knee?"

"Bloody awful," he admitted, "but that's not the part of me you need to worry about," he smirked cheekily.

She leant in very close, he could smell her familiar scent, "glad to hear it," she whispered, "I have missed you more than you will ever know."

"You can show me how much when we get home," he handed her into the taxi and helped the driver load her luggage.

"At our age, Archie ..." she purred, and widened her eyes. In the old days he'd have taken her right there on the back seat of the car.

"... many a good tune played on an old fiddle," he kissed her cheek, "welcome home, Phryne," he added in a barely heard murmur.

They sat in companionable silence watching the streets go by, holding hands until they drew up outside his bungalow.

"Nice," she stepped out of the car and surveyed the garden, perfectly manicured lawn and bright colourful borders, he'd always taken care of the garden at Tivoli Road so she shouldn't be surprised, though with his knee injury it must take a lot out of him.

"Fleur found it for me, it's a bit more secluded than Tivoli Road or Wardlow," he offered her his arm and escorted her up to the door.

"I think it is just what we need, Ja ... Archie," mindful of the ears of the taxi driver and not sure how free she could be with his given name.

They paid the driver and gave him a generous tip, for moving all the bags and suitcases, and closed the door.

It was only then that she allowed the tears to flow and he held her as she murmured over and over again, "I'm sorry."

He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair, now streaked with grey and cut in a modern style. He guided her through to the living room and they sat on the couch.

"I wanted to tell you I was ok," she sniffed, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket, "but Jane wouldn't let me, she said it was too dangerous."

"It was, but Jane?"

"I've been with her for most of this year," she wouldn't meet his eyes, so he tipped her face up with his finger under her chin.

"Tell me," he whispered, "but first, tea? Or something stronger?"

"Tea, first," she smiled through her tears.

They talked long into the night with Jack going to the kitchen to fetch food from the fridge or the cupboard, and they drank more tea and occasionally whisky. She showed him the scar and he kissed it softly.

"I thought it might put you off," she held him there for a few moments.

"After all we have been through, Phryne, I'm surprised there aren't more," he kissed her forehead, "I love you, all of you, who you are, what you stand for, not just what you look like, which is incredible by the way."

"Thank you, I like the beard, by the way, very distinguished."

"Ever kissed a man with a beard?" he grinned.

"Not lately," she smiled and for the first time since she had flown off they kissed, long, deep and slow, until the need for oxygen had them break.

He took her to the bedroom where one of her nightgowns lay under the pillow next to his, a bottle of her scent sat on his dresser and a picture of her sat on his nightstand.

"I never gave up on you Phryne," he blushed at his sentimentality, "I knew you were alive."

She took in the scene and raised her eyebrow at him.

"Not just that your body couldn't be found, but in here," he pointed to over his heart, "in here I felt you."

"Thank you, for believing," she stepped in front of him, but instead of wrapping her arms round him she reached for the book he was reading.

"Ha! you read it!" she held it with glee, seeing the dog-eared pages, he had read it over and over again.

"Ah yes, and I have some comments ..." he took it off her, "for instance ..." he flicked the pages to the story of the murder of the magazine writer.

"Oh, we see things differently, Jack," she took the book and placed it back on the nightstand, "now about that part of you I should be worried about."

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A knock on the door woke him. He blinked and swallowed. Next to him was a naked woman who had made love to him, and he to her, until the early hours of the morning when they both agreed that, at their age, they should conserve their strength. But he was a little proud of his stamina - at his age.

She stirred as the visitor knocked again.

"Go back to sleep, love," he kissed her softly and slipped out of bed, grabbed his robe and went to see who would be calling at ... he looked at the bedside clock ... nine thirty in the morning. Ah well perhaps he was up a little later than normal.

"Uncle Jack!" Fleur grinned, "having a lie in?" She pushed past him into the hall, "oh, sorry you have a visitor."

"Mornin' Fleur," he grunted, "coffee?" ignoring the comment and hoping she wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Please," she followed him into the kitchen where the cups, plates and glasses he and Phryne had used the night before waited to be cleaned. "You didn't wash up, shame on you."

He grunted something about cheeky young nieces keeping their observations to themselves. He made the coffee, dark and strong, stronger than usual, the way Phryne liked it.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he sipped the coffee and sat opposite her at the table.

"Peregrine says dinner at her place tonight," she blinked at the strength of the drink, "this stuff'll strip paint."

"Just how I like it," a sleepy voice hummed and a figure reached for a mug from the rack on the counter, "hello Fleur, are you well?"

"Miss Phryne?" Fleur gulped, "you're back?"

"So it would seem," the so named, wrapped in her black silk robe, a third generation copy of her favourite, hummed.

"In time for sentencing," Fleur wondered if this was her reason for returning.

"Is it today?" Phryne hummed over her coffee.

"Yes, will you be there?"

"Fleur!" Jack admonished, he turned to Phryne, "you don't have to go. I will and report back."

"No, Jack, I will go with you, I need ..." she heaved a big sigh, "I need to see the end, even if I couldn't be part of the investigation."

"Ten thirty at the Central Court ..." Fleur was about to offer to collect them when the phone rang.

"You lead a busy life, Jack," Phryne teased, he glared at her.

He lifted the receiver and listened to the caller announce themselves, "thanks Peregrine, can you fit two of us in, I have a guest who'd like to be there." A pause as he listened to the answer, "thanks, see you soon." He replaced the receiver and turned to the other two with him, "Peregrine will pick us up."

"Best get dressed then," Phryne stood up, "good to see you again, Fleur."

Fleur and Jack watched her head back towards the bedroom, neither one believing the calm with which she had seemed to accept the situation.

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In the bath, which she didn't really have time for, Phryne wondered if she was doing the right thing, attending court. What if Sparrow wasn't convicted, what if the lawyer and judges and business owners got off scot free, what then? Had she jeopardised Fleur, Steed, Peregrine and Jack's lives, would they all end up fleeing the country of their birth, living like nomads? She started to cry, this was such a bad idea - coming home.

Jack paused at the bathroom door his hand hovering over the handle. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She was lying in the bath just like she used to before he went in a scrubbed her back and joined her, but now - her eyes were red rimmed, her nose was running and her shoulders were shaking with the sobs.

"Oh love," he was beside her, sitting on the edge of the tub, "please, you don't need to attend."

"It's not that," she sniffed and wiped her face with her hands, "it's just that I could have put everybody in danger, you, Fleur ... the others ..."

"Hey," he bent forward and kissed her, "there is no danger, not now, the case is strong, and ... even if they do get off, which is highly unlikely ... we'll get by. There's a whole world out there, Phryne, a whole world that Sparrow and the rest can't search, won't find us ... you've shown us that; you disappeared for over two years, not even I could find you ..."

"You tried?" she looked up at him.

"I tried, Birdie, Mac ... we all tried and even if we realized you didn't want to be found I never stopped believing in you, Birdie didn't, even if she activated your will, she still believed you were alive. We all believe in you, love you, trust you, know you in our hearts." He held out a towel, "come on, Pirate Girl of Collingwood, let's go and see the bilge rats walk the plank."

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Phryne's face was almost covered with the brim of her hat and a pair of large sunglasses. Jack introduced her as his friend Fern Williams, in town for a few days, researching for her latest novel, and they set off for the court in the little car Peregrine habitually drove like her aunt.

They fought their way through the throng of reporters up to the public gallery where they sat close to Birdie, Samuel and Violetta, neither of whom took notice of Jack or his guest.

In the hush and heat of the courtroom they listened to the judge tell of his disappointment in them, that they had brought the whole of the law and order system into disrepute, that the ministers were a disgrace to the offices they held and the churchmen were a stain on the cloth they purported to uphold. He then sentenced each one to lengthy sentences and some to life sentences for murder and obtaining abortions to save face. Phryne watched them all, noted the ones who still held their heads up as if they had been given a slap on the wrist and those that looked possibly contrite, but she would never believe them.

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"So you will come tonight," Peregrine dropped Jack and Phryne off at his house, "we ought to celebrate. Birdie, Sam and Violetta will be there, please say yes, and you, Miss Williams."

"I suppose ..." Jack turned to Phryne.

"Why not," she smiled, "I'd like to know more about you, Peregrine, you'd make a decent heroine for another book."

"Rubbish, but James might make a good hero," she laughed.

Jack shook his head as she roared off.

"What?" Phryne tugged his arm.

"I see so much of you in her, must be a Fisher thing ... tea?"

"God help James, then," she laughed.

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As they approached her old home Phryne swallowed nervously. She and Jack had spent the afternoon talking and making love, teasing each other and getting generally reacquainted but when it came time to get ready for the celebration at Peregrine's she had been suddenly struck with nerves. They talked it through, he could make her apologies, she didn't have to attend ...

"If I do, Jack," she snuggled against his chest, "I want to attend as me, The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, no more hiding - do I need to hide anymore?"

"No, no of course you don't, and I will support you in whatever you choose to do. Peregrine's going to get a shock though."

"She can keep the house," Phryne looked up at him, "I don't need it."

"Would you be content to stay here, in this little bungalow?" he asked knowing how she had loved the space and rooms at Wardlow, the bright and airy spaces at Tivoli Road.

"We don't need that much, do we?" she touched his cheek, "you and I?"

"No, love, we don't," he smiled, "and if Jane should like to come and stay we have a spare room."

"I'd like that," she sighed, "I think she would too."

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Phryne smoothed down the skirt of her sea green silk dress. It was sleeveless, pleated from the shoulders and crossing over her breasts, nipped in by a thin belt and pleated over her hips the slim skirt falling to just below her knees. She looked elegant, sophisticated and ... just as she should look, to Jack, perfect. She hadn't hidden her face behind dark glasses and the scar on her neck was visible. She had wanted to wear a scarf but Jack said "No, it is part of you, not something to be ashamed of. Someone, years ago tried it, remember, don't let them win, Phryne. You are the stronger one, the winner."

All the same she pulled the collar of her jacket up to stand around her neck.

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"Hello o!" Peregrine called into the intercom.

"Jack ... and guest," Jack answered.

"Come on up," she smiled and unlocked the door.

It was all so familiar, yet Phryne felt a little removed from her old home. This, she felt, was good. She didn't want to take it away from Peregrine - by the way, what was it with odd names for the Fisher children? She knew why she had been named 'Phryne', a drunken father, but 'Peregrine'? That said, or thought, she rather liked it.

"Oh Jack," Peregrine reached out to him, "and ..."

"Phryne bloody Fisher!" Birdie had turned round just as they entered, "where the fuck did you come from?" She ran over and wrapped her in a bear hug, "you ... you ..."

"Hello, Birdie," Phryne smiled, "good to see you too," and she returned the hug, tenfold. "Sorry," she whispered in her ear.

"You're my aunt?" Peregrine gasped, "but ..."

"Sorry, Peregrine," Phryne smiled over Birdie's shoulder, "but don't worry ..." she pulled herself out of Birdie's embrace and held out her arms to her niece, "I am so proud of you, I couldn't have done any more, you are truly a Fisher girl."

It could have been awkward, in the extreme, but with cocktails and food, Phryne and Peregrine got to know each other a little more. Phryne told her story, Jack showed the book he had slipped into his pocket, and the party continued into the early hours of the morning.

As they left, Phryne squeezed Peregrine's hand and promised to call as soon as she could, just to iron out a few details of the inheritance, but assured her niece she wasn't about to be turned out on her ear.

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She thought about staying as Fern Williams, and he as Archie Jones, but in the end, after some discussion, love making and whisky, they decided to be who they were, Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson. Peregrine was to keep Tivoli Road, the car and all that she had thought was hers. Phryne still had enough money, from the book but also from her studious investments and as she had a second bank account did not have to go through hoops to access cash. She rewrote her will, leaving legacies to certain charities, more to Jane and Peregrine, some to Fleur and the remainder to be distributed however the Adventuress' Club deemed fit.

Dot and Hugh Collins had been surprised to receive an invitation to dine with Jack, one evening and travelled over from Mildura. He had said he wanted to tie up any loose ends as he was getting on in years.

"Huh," Dot sniffed, "he's not seventy yet, miles left in him."

"But without Miss Fisher ..." Hugh sighed.

Dot shrugged, she never believed Miss Phryne was dead, immortal, she said.

"Nobody's immortal, Dottie," he laughed.

"Phryne Fisher is," she huffed.

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"Told you," she nudged him, when Phryne excused herself to the ladies during dinner, "bloody immortal!"

Hugh rolled his eyes, Jack smirked, it had taken years before Dot would curse, even mildly, but after war and losing Phryne, she had finally given in to the temptation of the 'naughty' words.

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"Now what?" Phryne sighed as she slipped into the bed beside Jack.

"As in?"

"Well, I've basically handed my life over to Peregrine .. " she huffed.

"Well, there is something you haven't handed over to her," he grinned cheekily.

"And that would be?" she raised an eyebrow.

"This," he grabbed her and pulled her into one of the kissed that took her breath away even after all this time, "and maybe ..." he rolled her over and lifted her nightgown up.

"Jack!" she squeaked ... "oh Jack," she sighed.


End file.
